Happy Fricken' New Year
by PatronSaintOfBEGA
Summary: Because Xmas just wasn't inspiring enough. Rated for language. Join the countdown to midnight with a free bar, a roomful of odd pairings, and BEGA making drunken fools of themselves and others. Oh, and Garland smooching Mystel, too. Review and I love you!


**Happy Fricken' New Year**

_"It's gonna be a merry, merry,_

_Merry fricken' Christmas_

_I must be on Santa Claus's shit list_

_The tree. The gifts._

_The mistletoe kiss - _

_Shoot me now, I'm sick of all my relatives!"_

_- (God only knows who)_

**_-----_ happy fricken' new year_ -----_**

"Heeey, Garland, did you see where - "

"Over there."

"Ohh. Cool!"

And with that, a marginally tipsy Raul took four steps in the indicated direction, swerved sideways, and keeled over into Lee. Fortunately the chief tiger and his outrageous sideburns were equally smashed, and merely laughed raucously, hugging the Spanish blader instead of open-palming him across the face. Around the room, similar scenes were being played out. _Everyone_ was looking for Tyson, who had unsurprisingly struck buffet table early into the proceedings, and not surfaced since. And everyone was also at varying stages of inebriation thanks to the ill-advised free bar. There had been karaeoke. And at some point a pinata. Even Kai and the gloomy denizens of Neoborg had taken in enough booze to smirk at the group's collective antics; they were at present loudly commenting on Daichi's attempts to dance with Hillary instead of just repeatedly tripping her in time to the music.

And Garland was absolutely bloody sick of it.

His team, who he'd brought against his better judgement, were all scattered around the place making comprehensive fools of themselves. Moses, for instance, had begun a drinking contest with Gao. Unfortunately the judge, Olivier, was much farther gone than either participant, and currently trying to withold beer from two guys over five times his size and weight. Thus two large teens and one tiny French blader were careening about the room, leaving wreckage and Budweiser in their wake.

Mimi was trying to sing, or had been, until Neoborg's group heckling effort finally defeated her. She'd somehow ended up perched on Ian's lap, practicing her own modified version of _if you can't beat 'em..._

Mystel had, through some random Brownian motion, emerged at the head of a large conga line. This was impeded by two factors. Factor one being that shmaltzy Xmas records (which were on despite it being a New Year gathering - Garland was mystified) were quite challenging to conga to. Factor two being the Egyptian blader's terrible sense of direction - _when the dozy lead the drunk, get out of the way,_ Garland thought irritably, wondering where the conga line was by now. And not at all because Mystel was sort of nice to look at, in a funny way, and surely he had better stop drinking and pull the emergency brake on _that_ particular train of thought. Yes, right now. This minute.

He took another swig of martini.

"Hey! Gar-chaaaaaaan! _Nice_ Gar-chan, oh, that'ssaniceshirt.."

The voice dissolved into giggles, somewhere around his collarbone. Garland sighed and shook his head; Brooklyn had somehow located him, and was hugging his shoulder enthusiastically. He drained the glass and signalled for another. "Gar-chan! You shouldn' drink so much. Hee hee.."

"Neither should you," he muttered, resignedly pushing away the hand creeping up his neck. Before the party, he had been blissfully unaware of not only just how many pieces of mistletoe could be attached to a disco ball, but also of the fact that a royally pissed Brooklyn was a very friendly creature. _Very_ friendly. Very _very_ friendly, and not at all choosy about who he was very very friendly with.

The look on Julia's face had almost been worth it, he reflected. Bryan won most points for startled indignation, though. He took the new martini with a nod of thanks to the barman, and decided to aim for distraction.

"Where's Hiro, anyway?"

The team coach - as far as Garland knew - hadn't had much to drink. He _had_, however, encountered at an earlier stage in the party the ginger-haired menace currently burying its face somewhere under Garland's chin, and surprised it for all of three seconds by snogging back with great enthusiasm. Making out in the corner had ensued. Garland had been hoping they would just stay there and not pester anyone else, but so much for that.

"Your chin smells nice.."

"Where's Hiro," he persisted. It was about six minutes until the countdown started, and he didn't really want to begin the new year trying to remove an overly-amorous schizophrenic from his jawline.

"...Went to th' bathroom," the voice warbled uncertainly into his collar. "D'you know, y'shouldn't eat yellow, hee hee, yellow ladybugs. Def'nitely not."

"I'll keep that in mind." Five minutes now. Fortunately, he was saved from further rambling by the Hiro returning from the bathrooms and, with a tolerant air, gently prising the redhead away from him.

There was a sort of crash, about fifteen seconds later.

The above two facts may be connected.

Either way, Garland didn't care. He was feeling morose; everyone was making prats of themselves; his team were behaving like the densest shower of morons ever to grace the Earth; the only sensible adult in the room was somewhere in the wreckage of a nearby couch, making out with a drunken teenager in the most undignified of all possible manners.

And to top it all off, the conga line had reappeared. For some reason, Poseidon - in a sparkling minature form - was now the only one left in it besides the beast's owner. Who really _didn't_ look cute when afflicted with the champagne giggles.

"Okay, everyone, we're gonna start the countdown in like a minute, so find yourself someone to stand with!"

Hillary seemed the closest thing to sober in the room. She was definitely scary, anyway, so the crowd scurried about trying to find someone non-objectionable to celebrate New Year's in the personal space of. Garland didn't bother moving; he had his martini right there. He ignored with studious determination the thing sidling up two feet away from him.

"_Alright!_ New Years countdown, who's with me?"

Tyson had jumped on one of the few remaining whole tables. Where he had gotten that microphone from, God only knew. Possibly stolen it from Mimi, who didn't seem in any situation to notice or care. The big screen TV behind him began to flash out brightly-coloured numbers.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!"

People were shouting along, if not because they knew what was happening, then because everyone else was. Garland finished the new drink and swallowed, shuddering.

"Seven! Six! Five!"

He put the glass down, but the bartender was yelling and didn't notice. The thing stood beside him moved up a little.

"Four! Three! Two!"

It smelled like oranges, or something. Maybe grapefruit. He couldn't see how that would matter.

"One! - Happy New Year, everyone! Yeeeea - mff!"

Tyson had been yanked off the table by the collar and smooched, courtesy of one only slightly embarrassed Max. Garland would've been more interested in that had he actually been aware of it; something had adhered itself to his face, and was getting in the way. By the amount of gold in his peripheral vision, and the blonde plait splaying its raggy end across his knee, he could tell who it was. Not that he really needed the clues.

_This is so undignified_, he noted, opening his mouth and responding nonetheless. It was thoroughly inelegant. He felt blurred and woozy and didn't really know what he was doing - _must ask Brooklyn about that later. And find out how he knows, as well_ - and the whistling coming from the direction of Johnny wasn't at all romantic. And he'd lost feeling in one arm because of the warm hand holding onto it so hard. And Mystel didn't even taste of mulled wine, or anything seasonal, just coke.

He pulled back and took a breath. God, was the room _that_ much of a mess? There was wrecked furniture, spilled drink, and people making out everywhere. Someone or other was shouting at someone else. Garland shook his head, and warm breath panted suddenly across his nose.

He paused. Thought. Crooked his hand around the back of a tanned neck, and crushed their mouths together again.

To hell with the new year.

**AN:**

**w00t out loud for random romance, that's what feather-duster says! This whole thing was written in the early hours of New Year's Day '07, while listening to a song called "Merry Fricken' Christmas". feather-duster had tried to write a nice BEGA Xmas thing, but found herself lacking. So she presents this as a peace offering, to whoever may be appeased by it!**

**...Probably not Garland.**

**ACTUAL NOTES:**

**Yes, there were a lot of random characters involved. Yes, there were a lot of random couples, as well. And _yes_, you read that bit about Ming Ming and Ian right. (What? Don't look at me like that. These things happen.)**

**GarlandxMystel is a cute couple, really really. You know you like eeeet...**

**Brooklyn is either schizophrenic, or in the habit of carrying mood-altering hallucinogens in his pockets. You knew what it meant, anyway.**

**Kai could have been smooching anyone when the countdown reached zero, but Lee and Raul were an altercation waiting to happen. Use teh imagination, dear reader. Or not.**

**Review and everyone with a cameo appearance in this fic loves you! And feather-duster does too, of course.**


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